Page 15 of Dragons of the Great Wyves: Fire and Song
Nessy’s eyes were saucers.
“This can be our secret,” I said, gathering my things. “Shall we see if the kitchen has any tea?”
The kitchen was bustlingwith dinner preparation, and no tea was made, but Nessy was the sole child in this sprawling palace and very spoiled, so a kettle was put on and a plate of biscuits provided. While Nessy nibbled, the cook told me her expansive plans for dinner. That made me think of Serle, our Hartfield cook, and I felt another pang of homesickness.
Should I leave Pemberley?
For a time, I had feared that Mr. Darcy’s moods endangered him. But I disagreed with Lord Wellington’s claim that Mr. Darcy was desperate. I thought he had become healthier. Determined.
Then there was the war, but the French and American invaders were well short of Surrey. Besides, I refused to abandon my home due to vague threats. All England might fall. What would we do then, scurry north and freeze in Scotland?
A more practical problem was my lack of funds for the trip. My letters to Hartfield were unanswered—southern mail was disrupted—and my despicable brother-in-law, John, refused any letter I sent to London. But it was false pride to call funds a barrier. Mr. Darcy would provide a coach and driver if I asked.
While Nessy chose a third biscuit, I smoothed the fit of my gloves and wondered why I was reluctant to leave. Perhaps I feared loneliness. Harriet was teaching at Netherfield, the Bingleys’ home. She did reply to my letters, but her notes were short. She might even be angry because of my… well-meant missteps.
I heard Mrs. Reynolds approach in the corridor. She was speaking formally, likely with a member of the family, so I kissed Nessy on her forehead and went to see.
Mr. Knightley, whom I had thought a hundred miles away, stood conversing with her.
His back was to me, the taper of his tailored coat pronounced from shoulders to waist. His hair, tied back in his old-fashioned style, had grown a half-inch; the corkscrews spilled down his brown neck and past his collar. Even without that, I would have recognized the set of his body, so similar to how he stood when he played his violin, shoulders square but canted a little as if he were leaning into an intense note.
Recollections rattled my mind. When he last set out to the occupied south, I had cried in my room, afraid of a horrid outcome. Before, he had asked me: What if a proper life were offered to you? I had not answered, which of coursewas an answer: No. A Black gentleman had enough barriers in society without a wyfe who feared crumpled gloves.
Mrs. Reynolds spotted me over Mr. Knightley’s shoulder. She apologized to him—some urgency in the pantry—then said “Miss Woodhouse” to me before curtsying and hastening down the corridor.
Mr. Knightley turned.
I said, “Good afternoon.” The noisy kitchen behind me had fallen perfectly silent. I recalled I should add, “Mr. Knightley.”
“You look remarkable,” he said. “Wonderful.”
It took a few seconds to believe he said that. I dragged a huge breath into my lungs to fend off a blush. “You wish to be informal, I see.”
“Honest, not informal. If you prefer, I can pronounce your dress handsome, but my patience for social understatement has faded in the past weeks.”
“Was the south so dangerous?”
He shrugged.
My heart was bounding in my chest like a silly girl’s, which I wasnot. I hunted for a calming topic. “Did you call at Hartfield? I fancied you did. I could all but see you beside the fireplace.” I did picture him then, lounging in one of the deep chairs, relaxed in his high-collared shirt and patterned waistcoat, his coat… missing for some reason. That was less calming than I expected.
Mr. Knightley, though, stiffened. “I was unable to visit Highbury.”
I felt foolish. “Naturally. It was hardly a social trip.”
“You have a brother,” he said.
Even my newly vivid imagination could not guess why he brought that up. “Brother-in-law. John.”
“I did inquire, you see… Your family is well known in Surrey.”
“Of course,” I said, because it was.
That made him laugh, but he turned serious. “I was just asking Mrs. Reynolds where to find you. I brought news from the south, and Lord Wellington has asked that we gather. He requested you by name.”
6
WYVES AND WAR
